Chapter 30
“The window has to be fixed, so one of us had to be here.”
“Of course. I forgot all about that. I’m so sorry. I broke the glass, Roxie. I should be the one who pays for the damage and repair.”
“Nonsense.” This time her smile was genuine. “I won’t hear of it. The police say dad might be dead if you hadn’t created that distraction and alarmed the intruder. We will be forever grateful.”
“Don’t be silly. Anyone would have done the same. It was just happenstance that I was there at the right time.”
One of the window installers passed the doorway. “Roxie, we’ve run into a small snag. Would you come look at this?”
“Of course.” Roxie bustled out the door.
I stayed behind for just a moment and quickly flicked the papers on the desk to see what she had covered up. It was Cyril’s hefty credit card bill. The kind I couldn’t afford to pay. I couldn’t help wondering if she had seen something on it that troubled her. But there was no time for that. And it certainly wasn’t any of my business anyway. I hurried after her and found her in front of the window discussing a two-inch piece of wood frame that would have to be replaced.
I still felt a bit guilty for throwing the brick. And I hadn’t kept a close eye on Roxie at all. As far as I knew, no one had threatened her. She was doing okay, though, in spite of whatever had upset her about her father’s credit card bill.
I waved to her and rushed toward the bookstore. I rounded the corner and sped up. A customer was already waiting at the door.
“Good morning,” I said, hoping she was early and that I wasn’t late. I unlocked the door and held it for her, then dashed past her to turn off the alarm behind the checkout desk. “How can I help you?”
She was probably in her late sixties. White streaks ran through her blond hair, which had been cut short in a sleek, modern style. Deep wrinkles edged cold, faded blue eyes. She wore a bold red knit jacket with so many double buttons marching down the front, it looked like a military uniform. The handles of a satchel-style purse hung on a painfully thin arm. A bony wrist protruded from her sleeve, and a hefty gold bracelet dangled from it. In a breathy, carefully stilted voice, she announced, “Mags Delany to see Professor Maxwell.”
In my years at Color Me Read, I had seen a lot of different types of people and had learned not to jump to conclusions. But this woman sent shivers up my spine. “I don’t know if he’s here. Would you like me to check first or would you rather follow me up to the third floor?”
There was something coldly arrogant about her. Possibly the way she held her head as though she was literally looking down on me. I swear her chin was parallel to the floor.
“He may come to me.”
Ouch! I tried to smile. “Perhaps you would like to take a seat in the parlor.”
She wrinkled her nose. “How quaint. Calling it a parlor does not make it so.”
I reminded myself that her arrogance had nothing to do with me. I didn’t have to like her. Without another word, I hurried up the stairs to the third floor. Thankfully, the professor was in his office.
“A Mags Delany is here to see you.”
He leaned and peered behind me.
“She declined to come up.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Very well. That speaks volumes, doesn’t it?”
“Do you know her?” I whispered.
“She’s one of our neighbors, but we’ve never met. DuBois tells me she moved into her house two years ago. He’s chummy with her housekeeper.”
I trailed behind him down the stairs. As I stepped off the landing, chimes pealed gently in response to the movement of air. I paused briefly and glanced at the chimes that hung near the chair where Goldblum and I had left the magazine. And in that moment, I thought of Lydia and her chimes. Something clicked rather neatly in my mind.
That would have to wait. I followed the professor.
When he walked into the parlor, Mags slowly uncrossed her long, scrawny legs like a seductress in a bad movie and stood up to offer him her right hand, poised like a swan’s neck.
I was glad I didn’t have to deal with her.
“I’ve seen your picture, of course, but I had no idea you were so stunningly handsome,” she purred.
I wanted to retch.
“Perhaps we could discuss our plans over a cup of coffee?” she asked. “Where little ears aren’t listening?”
I darted out of sight and waited behind the checkout desk. Their plans? It had to be something for a charity.
As they walked by me, she slid her hand under the professor’s elbow and glanced back at me. “Don’t wait up.”
I hated her. I had known her for all of five minutes and I already hated her. I sucked in a deep breath. They were gone and Mags Delany was not my problem.
I had bigger things to worry about than a haughty, rude, self-impressed woman. I rushed back up the stairs, just high enough to get a good look at the chimes.
They were exactly as I’d thought. I called Eric, who answered immediately.
“I think I know what the cylinder is. It’s a wind chime tube. The part that makes it ring. The two holes are threaded and attached to the top in some fashion so that it hangs.”
“That sounds plausible. But why would a chime be out in the leaves like that? Could the wind have blown it?”
“How about if the wind chime was broken in a scuffle when the victim was being murdered? It was knocked aside or pulled on, and a chime somehow lodged in something and made the trip to the cemetery with him. There is exactly such a wind chime at Willoughby’s house. I bet it will be a match.”
“An interesting observation. Thanks, Florrie.”
“One other thing. Was there wood on Willoughby’s throat?”
“How could you know that?” Eric asked.
“You might look in the bushes for a stick. The neighbor was complaining about the dog carrying it around and tossed it in the bushes. But it wouldn’t surprise me if someone used it on Willoughby to choke him.”
“I’m heading there now.” He hung up.
Veronica walked in at that moment. I described the entire scene with Mags Delany to her while I started the coffee.
“Mags Delany,” she murmured. “That name sounds familiar.”
“You would remember her if you had met.”
Minutes later, Veronica’s under-five storytelling group began to arrive. I stayed by the checkout desk while Veronica and the moms wrangled the children.
In a lull between customers, I located a pencil with a deep, rich plum color. I snagged a sheet of paper from the printer stash and drew four faces, each one in the corner of an imaginary square. The first was Cyril with his glasses and kind eyes. Opposite him, I sketched Manny’s sullen, attitude-laden expression. Below Manny, I added Ellis Willoughby. I quickly looked up his obituary. I was struck right away by his easy smile and prominent cheeks that created angled brackets on either side of his mouth. He had a broad forehead and a full head of neatly trimmed hair.
I couldn’t help comparing him to Mags Delany. Maybe Veronica was right, I was a snob who leaped to conclusions about people based on their appearance. It was wrong of me to think that I would have liked Ellis. Of course, my feelings about Mags weren’t based only on how she looked. It was mostly her rude pomposity that turned me off.
I drew Ellis’s cheerful face in the corner below Manny, thinking all the while that I was even more sad he had been murdered because he seemed so friendly in his photo.
Balthus went in the final corner.
I studied the four men, trying to figure out if there was any connection between them. Cyril and Ellis were definitely acquainted. But as far as I knew, they didn’t share any current activities. And Ellis was clearly afraid of someone, while Cyril had no idea why anyone would attack him. I added a line between them.
Balthus had dated Roxie, so chances were good that he knew Cyril. And he needed money, which might have been an incentive for him to steal a valuable clock from Cyril. But murder him? I didn’t see how that would benefit Balthus. Besides, Balthus himself had been attacked. Still, I drew a line between Balthus and Cyril, which didn’t really help. I wasn’t making much progress.
On the side of the paper, I sketched potential suspects, beginning with Hayes. Had they been his patients? Originally, I only associated him with Manny. But what if the other three had gone to him for treatment?
Next to Hayes, I drew the sweet face of his mother, Coralue. I couldn’t see her being physically violent. Not that it was out of the question. Maybe she was in cahoots with Hayes. I drew a little line between Coralue and Hayes.
I couldn’t omit Hilda. I had been suspicious of her from the beginning. Maybe that wasn’t fair, but she was the only person who stood to gain from the murders.
A woman walked into the store and asked if we sold cookbooks. I led her to a room in the rear, which had been the kitchen when the building was a home. We had left the charming farmhouse sink and turquoise refrigerator. Our modern coffee and tea servers looked right at home on the counter. In addition to cookbooks, the open shelves were full of collectible teapots and cups, as well as assorted kitchen equipment perfect for gift baskets.
When I returned, Eric was standing behind the checkout counter, studying my sketches.
“Are you helping customers?” I asked jokingly.
“If any had come in, I’d have gladly assisted them. But mostly I don’t like standing with my back to the door these days.”
I took a deep breath. “Are you worried that someone is after you?”
He grinned and tapped his finger on my sketches. “It’s a cop thing. Back to the wall for safety. I see you’ve noticed that a killer is on the loose. Maybe two.”
“Two?”
“As you can see from your clever sketch, we haven’t been able to link the attacks. For instance, Cyril’s throat was slit with a knife from his own kitchen. Manny was choked from behind. Ellis Willoughby was also choked. But Balthus was hit on the head and chloroformed.”
“I see what you’re saying. The person who harmed Cyril didn’t come prepared. But the person who killed Manny and Ellis used the same basic technique, so those attacks could be related. And the chloroform was new? Not used on the others?”
“Exactly. We do think that you interrupted the perpetrator in Cyril’s case. Otherwise we might be looking at three deaths. But everything seems different with Balthus.”
Eric pointed at Hilda, Coralue, and Hayes. “Are these your suspects?”
“So far. I’m considering who might have known all four victims.”
“If that’s your criteria, you’d better add Roxie and a fellow named Gene Germain.”
I eyed him. “They knew Ellis?”
“Roxie called Willoughby ‘Uncle Ellis,’ though I don’t believe there is actually any blood relation. And Gene Germain had used Ellis’s services. It’s even possible that Jacquie and Professor Maxwell would have to be in that group of suspects, though I’m not certain they knew Balthus.”
I assumed that Eric had information that he could not share with me. Nevertheless, I asked ever so innocently, “What do you know about the Order of the Moon?”
Eric looked at me with serious eyes. “Promise me that you will not have anything to do with them. They’re fanatics about guarding their compound. And they are malevolent people who think nothing of committing crimes.”
“Do you think they murdered Ellis?”
“It’s possible, except for one thing. If they were responsible for his death, we would still be looking for him. The people they kill go missing, never to be seen again. Promise me you will not get involved.”
“Where are they located?” I asked.
“I’m not going to tell you.” He turned and had his hand on the door handle when he looked back me. “You’re going to look them up.”
I grinned. “Of course.”
“They’re in an isolated location in West Virginia. Leave them alone. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
They sounded like bad news. But if the police were already investigating their possible involvement in Ellis’s murder, then there really wasn’t anything I could do anyway. I smiled and nodded at him. “I promise.”
He left and I turned my attention to unpacking new books.
I carried several historical books upstairs to shelve them and was stepping off a footstool when Finley entered the room.
“Hi, Florrie. Have you got a minute?”
“Of course.”
He leaned against a chair. “I’m worried about Roxie.”